The Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present
by SomeoneElsesDream
Summary: Dean sucks at giving gifts but Sam kinda sucks at receiving them. Done in 5 parts, features Wee!chestersNot related to A Very Supernatural Christmas Written for the spnchrismtas board on LJ


**Characters:** Sam, Dean, and John, with mentions of Mary and Jess  
**Pairings:** None  
**Rating:** PG-13, for strong language  
**Spoilers:** None – takes place pre-pilot  
**Prompts:** The year Dean bought Sam scissors for Christmas and other gifts that didn't go over well AND The Christmas gift Dean wants to send Sam at Stanford, but never does

**Disclaimer:** All I own is debt – you can have that if you like  
**Author's Note:** Please pretend you have not seen the Supernatural Christmas episode as I wrote most of this before that aired and I am too friggin lazy to change it now. Deal with it.

SNSNSNSNSN

"_So go on_

_And I will refrain_

_And I'll keep on running this never-ending race_

_maybe next time will be the right time_

_and maybe next time will be your time_

_So save your scissors_

_For someone else's skin"_

Dallas Green "Save Your Scissors"

**December 1990 – Biloxi, Mississippi**

All Dean had heard for months was how Sammy wanted these stupid craft scissors because, "All the other kids have craft scissors." As if that had ever been reason enough for their father. Dean tried to comfort his brother, tried to make it alright, but deep down they both knew it was about more than just scissors. It was about their father's complete inability to give them anything that might make them just like other kids, that would allow them to _be_ kids. Little soldiers didn't need scissors, they needed knives and guns and not much else.

It was coming up on Christmas now, and Dean had been saving all his money to buy presents. He didn't have a lot, a few dollars saved from collecting his father's bottles and cans, and a few dollars left over from the food money; but he was determined to make it enough. There was a sale on at a local craft store where he thought he might be able to find some scissors for Sammy, but what on earth was he going to buy his father? Most stores don't allow eleven year old boys to buy knives, not that John needed another knife, holy water was an option, but Dean wanted to get something personal. What was personal to John Winchester? After a few tense days of deliberation, Dean decided to splurge on a silver flask he could fill with holy water.

Christmas dawned overcast and bleary, but Dean was up early wrapping his presents in old newspaper. The housekeeping staff at their latest motel had set a small, very ugly, ceramic tree on the coffee table under which Dean had set his two bundles. He took a moment's pride at the sight then, yawning, snuggled back into bed behind Sam. John woke first, the muted light creeping through the blinds piercing his blood-shot eyes. The holidays always made him want to drink whiskey until he forgot his name. Mary loved Christmas so much, it broke his heart to live through the day without her. There were days he wished he could give his sons more, more love, more attention, more freedom; but then he would remember the last sight of his beloved wife and all other thoughts faded. Nothing was more important than teaching these boys to survive, to hunt. Nothing. Well, maybe coffee.

Sam woke to his father crashing about in their little kitchenette, the smell of coffee just starting to permeate the air. Unlike typical seven year old, Sam was not at all excited that today was Christmas Day. He knew that there would be no tree, no presents, and no special turkey dinner. In all likelihood all he was going to get for Christmas was blood and bruises from yet another hunt. There were days that Sam wished he could have a different family, this was only one of many. Elbowing his brother awake, Sam hustled to be the first one in the bathroom.

Dean sat up, whipping his head around to see the two simple bundles still under the tree. He tried to contain his disappointment, but it was painful to see how little they noticed anything related to him. Climbing out of bed he moved into the kitchen area to help his dad with breakfast. Thankfully there was just enough cereal and milk to go around – not exactly the Christmas breakfast he dreamed of, but better than nothing. Sam came out of the bathroom in a steamy cloud of Ivory soap and mint toothpaste. There was very little about Sam that could be called childish, he had been given so few opportunities to be a child, but he really loved his Smurfs toothpaste. It was blue and sparkly and tasted like peppermint – what's not to love?

After a too quick breakfast John started packing their things. There was no sense in staying in a town where there was nothing to hunt, well, nothing _left_ to hunt. As he glanced around to be sure he wasn't missing anything his eyes fell on the little tree and the clumsily wrapped bundles beneath it. Frowning, John picked them up.

"Boys" He growled, tone hard. "What the hell is this?"

Sam, puzzled, looked between his brother and father nervously. One learned quite quickly to fear _that_tone.

"It's Christmas presents for you and Sammy Dad." Dean tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He should have known he wouldn't get much enthusiasm from his father.

"Presents?" Sam gasped, "You bought presents?"

"And where did you get the money? You didn't steal these did you son?" John's voice dropped to menacing.

"Yes Sammy, I bought presents, and no Dad, I didn't steal them."

"Which one is mine?" Sam was bouncing lightly on his heels, this was the 'kid at Christmas' response Dean had been hoping for.

"The little one is for you Sammy." Dean looked hard at his father, "the other one is yours Dad, it's not going to bite you."

John reluctantly handed the smaller package to his youngest before gently opening his own gift. The flask was made from simple silver, plainer than the one he kept in his boot, but larger.

"Holy water?" He asked softly

"Yeah."

Sam waited to see that his Dad was done before tearing into his package with glee. He froze for a moment, this was not what he expected. The scissors were a dark blue, blades gleaming in the uneven lamplight. Craft scissors. Huh.

"Are they the right kind?" Dean asked, nervous at his brother's sudden quiet.

"They're perfect." Sam replied, his voice monotone.

John seemed to sense that there was something wrong, but in typical Winchester fashion, chose to ignore it completely.

"This is enough dawdling, get your bags and load up the car."

And that was the end of Christmas for the Winchester men. Dean never did find out what was wrong with the damn scissors.

SNSNSNSNSN

_"Probably the reason we all go so haywire at Christmas time with the endless, unrestrained, and often silly buying of gifts, is that we don't quite know how to put our love into words."_ Harlan Miller

**Christmas 1992 – Abilene, Texas**

It was a typical December in Texas, chilly and dry, which would have been fine if the heater in the car was working. John was tinkering with it now, trying desperately to coax a little heat out of his baby while the boys kept warm in the motel room. There was something so calming about working on the Impala, a sense of Zen peace working with all the parts. A car has a logical working, there is no emotion in the inner workings of a car, well…unless you crack your head on the hood…that's emotional. Fixing a car John could do, fixing his boys was another matter entirely.

Samuel Winchester hated Christmas. It's not that he had any bad Christmas memories, he didn't have any good ones either, it was that Christmas made his family sad. John got distant, Dean got reckless, Christmas was the worst day of the year. At his new school, he was always at a new school, all the kids were making paper chains and ornaments while Sam pondered the futility of his project. There was no tree to hang paper chains from, no mantle to adorn with handmade candles, no Christmas at all really.

Dean Winchester loved Christmas. Looking in all the windows as they passed, huge trees decorated with love, families gathered around plates of freshly baked cookies, candles and songs. He always missed his Mom more at Christmas. The memories Dean has of his mother are like precious photographs in his mind, flat pictures with no dimension, but he distinctly remembers she always smelled like Christmas. Cinnamon, pine, candle wax, and cookies. That's how he remembers his mom. It's easier to remember her at Christmas, but it's easier to miss her at Christmas too.

Come Christmas morning there was only one present in Dean's bag, one precious gift. A torch to be passed from one brother to another. Today Sam was going to get the surprise of his life – his first bowie knife. Dean figured this was a double gift since he had to wait until he was 10 to get his first bowie. Sam, being only 9 ½, would probably love the chance to lord such an accomplishment over his big brother. It didn't bother him, giving such ammunition to Sam, Dean knew that putting Sam first was worth any amount of ribbing.

Nerves kept Dean from handing over his gift until their father had gone outside to finish tinkering with the car. Sam sat at the little desk working ahead on his schoolwork. Dean never really saw the point of homework, they were never in one place long enough for a teacher to care what he did, but Sam loved school.

"Ahem" Dean coughed, suddenly feeling awkward

"Did you need something?" Sam didn't look up from his English workbook

"Merry Christmas Sammy" Dean blurted, thrusting a clumsily wrapped bundle into his brother's hands.

Sam eyed the package warily, knowing his brother well enough to know that there was a chance it was a gag. Gently opening the wrapping Sam pulled out the knife. It was long, almost as long as his forearm, and wicked sharp.

"I thought you might like to have your own, you know, instead of practicing with one of Dad's. It's a really nice one, not too heavy for you." Dean spoke a mile a minute, trying to outrun the panic in his chest at his brother's lacklustre response.

"You bought me a knife?" Sam's voice was incredulous – did Dean not understand him at all?

"Dad made me wait until I was ten before he bought me a knife, but I thought you could probably handle one now." Dean was trying so hard to keep from screaming, _What's wrong with you? _at Sam, _Don't you care at all?_ "I'll help you practice so Dad doesn't take it away."

"Dean…" Sam started, voice tamed level

"I did it!" John burst into the room, excited that he got his beloved Impala to warm up for him. "The heat's back on boys, you know what that means."

Unfortunately they did – it meant they were back on the road. The only reason John agreed to stop in the first place was because the car needed work. As far as John Winchester was concerned, today was just one more day, and there were monsters that needed hunting.

SNSNSNSNSN

_"There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child."_ Erma Bombeck

**December 1995 – Aberdeen, North Carolina**

Twelve consecutive days on the road had left the Winchester men testy and generally like tired, cranky grizzly bears. The Impala had a roomy enough interior for most things, but there was a limit to what even she was willing to take. Driving down the 501, and at the end of his limited patience, John took the first exit that promised food and lodging. The rundown motel wasn't much, but it had two beds and personal space enough for everyone. Some brave soul had strung the reception area with multi-coloured lights and garland, hoping to infuse wayward travellers with holiday cheer. It fell a long way short of festive, somewhere between tacky and just plain ugly.

The room itself wasn't much better, but at least it was Christmas free. It was bad enough that almost everywhere you went practically screamed "Merry Christmas", bad enough that every store or restaurant you entered played the same Christmas music – the last thing the Winchesters needed right now was to try to sleep in Christmas town. This 'bah humbug' attitude was getting worse and worse every year, the past despair and depression at the holidays turning to anger and distain. There was never going to be a Merry Christmas for the Winchesters and that was just facts.

Some years Dean tried to hang on, tried to infuse a little holiday cheer into his family, but it never really took. The years had not been kind to Dean, almost seventeen and a high school drop out. People would be hard pressed to guess his age, with a jaded light in his eyes, and a cynical tilt to his smile. Dean Winchester was old before he ever had a chance to be young, and he knew it. Knew it enough to realize that he did not want his brother going down the same road.

Sam was smart. Like holy-freak-of-nature smart. Mary had been the same way in school, always pushing to learn more, to _know_ more. There was very little that got past Sam, between his upbringing and his own nature he was a very perceptive boy. Still, at the tender age of twelve, he had seen and done too much to ever really be like other kids. While the boys in his class spent their time on video games and girls, Sam was buried in ancient texts researching demons. It made for more of a difference than you might think.

These days Dean didn't put himself on the line much, preferring to protect himself with a devil-may-care attitude, so it was a surprise to Sam to find a pack of new socks in his duffel bag the day after Christmas. He knew it wasn't something John would have done, the man could stretch a penny until it cried. Dean. It had to be Dean – but why socks? Was this some weird big brother thing? Was he trying to make a comment about smelly feet? Was he drunk?

"Morning." Dean passed over the requisite hot chocolate before moving to pack up his own bags.

"Morning." Sam hesitated, not knowing if speaking or silence would be the wiser course.

"Something on your mind little brother?" Dean looked up from folding his jeans

"Socks?" Sam blurted, voice cracking.

Dean laughed, for all his adult posturing, Sammy was still such a kid sometimes. "Well you said yours were getting all ratty. I thought you would appreciate how considerate I am."

"_Thanks"_ It never ceased to amaze how much sarcasm could drip from a single word.

Okay. So maybe Dean sucked at giving presents, but Sam kinda sucked at receiving them too. They might be the most dysfunctional family in America, but at least they had each other. Merry Christmas after all Winchesters.

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"A touch of sweet and nasty

A blind man couldn't miss

A Creole sister man you can't resist her

When she's soft against your lips-voodoo kiss

Kiss me on the lips

Can heaven be like this-voodoo kiss"

Mr. Big – "Voodoo Kiss

**Christmas 2000- Lafayette, Louisiana**

It's been three days since either of them has seen their father. Three long, miserable days cooped up in a stuffy motel room with a broken TV. There's only so much a man can take before he starts to think about going all Kane and Abel on his brother.

"That's it." Dean proclaimed, startling Sam into dropping the book he was trying to read. "I'm getting out of this room before I kill someone."

"Where are you going?"

"Anywhere but here."

"Do you know anyone in town?"

"Not yet, but I intend to." Dean smirked, winking slyly at Sam.

"How on earth am I related to such a pig?" Sam rolled his eyes and settled deeper into the chair.

Dean was halfway out the door when a thought occurred to him, "Hey Sam?"

"What?"

"Get your coat and come with me."

Sam had to admit, there was something to be said about trolling the streets with a master. Dean could poke his head into a bar and know in two seconds whether it was worth his time or not. So far it had been a street full of not. Finally they found a bar that looked promising, though Sam could find no immediately redeeming qualities.

Dean sauntered up to the bar and ordered a couple of pints of beer, taking the opportunity to flirt with the bartender. Sam manoeuvred his way to a table in the corner, smiling nervously at a table of young women giving him the eye, he turned to catch his brother's attention just in time to see the bartender pointing Dean right at the girls eyeing Sam. Dean took a good look at the ladies and grinned. This was going to be one helluva night. Stopping to deliver the beer to Sam, Dean slid between two of the prettier girls and made his request. In a matter of minutes the transaction was complete, he and Sam would both have company for the night, though his "date" was free – perks of being the good looking Winchester he supposed. Dean didn't think that $50 was steep when one considered that Sam was probably still a virgin and hell, it was Christmas after all.

Three or four rounds later the happy foursome stumbled back to the hotel. The awkwardness of sharing a room was quickly cured with the purchase of a second room for the night. Dean decided to cement his place in the Big Brother Hall of Fame by taking the original room (which John had a key for), leaving Sammy and his girl to have the one next door. It didn't take long for the dulcet sounds of sex started coming from Dean's room, but Sam took a little coaxing. Before long an unspoken competition was started to see who could make the headboard hit the wall louder. Dean won.

The next morning both men woke alone, not unexpected as Dean didn't pay for the ladies to stay the night. Sam stared at the ceiling, wishing for all the world that he could find wisdom in the stained stucco. While the evening had been…enjoyable…there was something so bitter and ugly about paying for sex – even when it wasn't you forking over the cash. Sam wanted a shower quite desperately, but he knew that no amount of soap and water would clean the stain he felt inside. Dean woke smiling. Not only did he pass a very pleasant evening with the eminently flexible Tessa, he got his brother laid in the bargain. All he could hope for was that the night's revelry would kill the bug Sam had up his ass over the holidays.

He couldn't have been more wrong. Not only was Sam even surlier than usual, there was a distinct chill between them. Dean knew sounds of pleasure when he heard them, and Sam was making plenty of noise last night, so what the hell was his problem this time? Why couldn't he, for once in his life, have a little fucking gratitude?

"Dude what's your problem?"

"Nothing" Sam snapped, pacing in front of the window

"Oh really? Because your _nothing_ is bleeding all over my good mood."

"I'm not you Dean." Sam said finally, turning to face his brother. "I can't be casual about this stuff."

"I don't understand." And that was the thing about Dean, he really didn't understand why someone would complicate something as natural as scratching an itch.

"Yeah, I know." Sam sighed, there were no words to make Dean understand, that was the gulf of difference between them. Deep, unfathomable, and uncrossable.

The deep purr of the Impala's engine cut off whatever Sam was planning to say. It didn't matter, what had already been said was enough, there was really nothing else to say.

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_"Isn't it funny that at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for - I don't know what exactly - but it's something that you don't mind so much not having at other times."_ Kate L. Bosher

**Christmas Eve 2004 – Palo Alto, California**

This was a really stupid idea. Scratch that, this was the dumbest fucking thing Dean had ever done, in a long and torrid history of fucking dumb. Sam made it crystal clear when he left that he wanted to be left alone, wanted a normal life. Dean hadn't fit into _normal_ since their mother died more than twenty years ago. Really fucking dumb.

It started out innocently enough really,.. Dean had been hunting a bruja that had been terrorizing a small group of people living in the Bayou, pretty standard fare for a hunter, when he failed to realize he had become the new target. See, Bayou people are pretty dedicated to the voodoo, and they're not too fond of outsiders poking around their swamp. Even though he was trying to help them, they got together and called on someone they called "Mama Laylee" to punish him. It turned out that Mama Laylee was the spirit of a great voodoo priestess and she was _pissed_. Dean couldn't understand most of what she said when she cursed him, but the few words he managed to translate later left him shaky and afraid. _Cursed._ She actually fucking cursed him. Fucking bitch!

After two days spent stinking drunk, Dean decided that the only thing to be done was to get his affairs in order. That meant taking care of the two things most important to him in the world. Sam and the Impala. Pretty easy as far as he was concerned, go see Sam, have a chat, leave him the car, find a nice place to die, see? It all fit together into a simple, easy to remember checklist. Did he mention the gut wrenching fear? Worried that he wouldn't be able to remember everything he was going to say, Dean decided to pussy out completely and leave Sam a letter and the car keys. It took the better part of a day to write, and re-write, the letter, but Dean was finally satisfied he had said everything he needed to. There was just enough brotherly advice and wisdom that hopefully Sam would keep the letter. God knows Dean had little else to give.

Which brought him to today. Thankfully December in California was mild, because Dean had been crouching in the bushes for more than two hours. From his vantage point Dean could just see into the windows of Sam's apartment, could see the pretty blonde moving around in the kitchen at least.

"Sammy you lucky bastard." He murmured in appreciation, "You finally got the girl."

Dean himself was kind of in a relationship, something completely new for him. Cassie was the kind of woman that made you think of forever, made you think that maybe forever wasn't the shackle it looked to be. It wasn't all sunshine and roses by any means; they had their rough spots. Oh who was he kidding? Their relationship was on the fast train to nowhere, but he loved her in his way. Maybe it's the kind of love that seems to come quick, and leave slow, but in the middle it's just fights, and pain, punctuated by great sex, until one of you has the courage to end it, and walk away. But you can't discount the great sex, because seriously? _Great sex._

After a few more hours of voyeurism, Dean decided that maybe some things were better left unsaid. With a smile on his face and a weight in his heart, Dean climbed back into the Impala and drove off into the rising sun.

"Merry Christmas little brother."

THE END

**Author's Note:** Because I am sure I'm not the only one who wants to know what was in Dean's letter – here it is.

_Sammy,_

_There are so many things I want to say to you, so many things I want to make you understand, but it seems I have finally run out of time. This letter will have to do._

_First and foremost: patch things up with Dad. You're all he has in the world now, and the two of you need to make it work before it kills you both. Don't go through life with this anger poisoning you._

_Secondly: Find a good woman, get married, have babies, and name your son Dean. For me. It may not seem like it, but I really did want a normal life Sam. Live it now for the both of us._

_Third: Take care of the Impala for me. She needs a lot of love and attention, but be careful trusting a mechanic with her, she's delicate too. If anything happens to her just know that I am coming back to haunt your ass._

_God, this is harder than I thought. I've never been good with this stuff, last words and all that, but I had to try to make you understand. I know you ran from this life, and I was actually glad to see you get out, but I had to keep fighting. I couldn't have a normal, safe, happy life, not when I know what's out there. I'm not saying you're wrong for trying, really I'm not, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't leave all those innocent people to suffer so I could have some peace. Some prices are worth paying. _

_I'm scared. There's not another person in the world I could admit that to, but I am. Terrified actually. There is so much I haven't done, so many places I haven't seen. An unfinished life. But I don't want you to feel sorry for me, I've never wanted that, I want you to remember. Remember that I will always be your brother, I will always love you, and when in doubt, ask yourself: _What would Dean do?_ Then do the Sam thing anyway. You always do._

_Dean_


End file.
